


Patterns in the Snow

by anr



Category: Earth 2
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-20
Updated: 2007-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-04 10:59:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anr/pseuds/anr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The winter is colder than she would have thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patterns in the Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Request: a few moments during the first winter on New Pacifica.

_i._

The winter is colder than she would have thought. Harsher. Julia says it's to be expected; that, after a lifetime of living on climate controlled stations, there was always going to be a period of adjustment. Bess says it's beautiful, that she's never seen snow so clean or tasted air so fresh, and Devon knows they're both right, she does, but that knowledge doesn't seem to make things any warmer.

Not when there's a constant sting of frost in the air, and she can feel the tips of her fingers numbing every time she stays outside for too long. Even the sun, which only weeks earlier had driven them towards dehydration, now does little more than reflect off the snow covering the ground. She has headaches from the glare and has to caution herself constantly against taking it out on the group.

She's not so sure she's successful.

Another snow storm hits, forcing them all into the biodome for safety, for warmth. They are a small group, comparatively speaking, but in such close, confined quarters they are overwhelming. She spends most of the day and evening wanting to leave, to escape, if only for a few minutes, for a breath of fresh air. Even after all their weeks of travelling together, she is still used to her own space, to being able to retreat and take a quiet moment by herself to clear her head. Her inability to do so now gnaws at her nerves, and her smile gets more tired, her laughter more forced as the night progresses.

Uly starts to yawn eventually and she calls it a night for them both, not believing his token protests. They buzz their teeth quickly and climb into her bed together when she remembers, at the last moment, that they will have to share their room tonight with some of the others. Sure enough, Walman comes in soon after they've settled under the covers and spreads out a pallet on the floor. She nods goodnight to him and then closes her eyes tightly and prays for sleep. Morning -- and, hopefully, the end of the storm -- cannot come soon enough.

She sleeps fitfully and it's still dark when she wakes. Uly has twisted most of the covers underneath him and her back is cold. Outside, the storm rages on; inside, she can hear Walman snoring, someone else shifting in their sleep. She's never thought of herself as being claustrophobic before but suddenly she feels like she's suffocating.

She opens her eyes and meets John's.

He and True are curled up in Uly's bed, the girl buried deep enough under the blankets that only the top of her head is showing. When John exhales, strands of True's hair flutter against the layers of cotton and wool. His stare is unwavering.

She wonders how long he's been awake, how long he's been watching her, but doesn't ask. Without meaning to, her breathing hitches and then evens out to match his. Inhale, exhale. Inhale --

Walman coughs, stirs briefly, then rolls over and goes back to sleep.

\-- exhale. She watches John watch her.

Morning comes too soon.

  


* * *

  


_ii._

She disagrees with John almost daily, sometimes over the most pointless matters. She's lost count of how many times they've argued about their dwindling supply of chocolate, or about the proposed schedules for collecting drinking ice.

She doesn't even know why they bother half the time -- everything always works out to be a compromise of some degree eventually.

  


* * *

  


_iii._

She dreams of summer, of the ocean. New Pacifica and everything it promises. Hope and warmth and --

She opens her eyes and is startled to see John. He's crouched beside her bed, one hand on her shoulder and his face too close to hers. "What --?"

He smiles and pulls his hand from her body but leaves it between them, palm up. "Come with me," he says softly, and she doesn't even think twice.

He guides her out of the biodome and towards the edge of camp. It's not snowing, but it has been recently if the thick, even covering on the ground is anything to go by. She sees Walman on watch near the transrover and John nods in greeting as they pass.

She doesn't ask John where they're going; she trusts him.

When they reach one of the small clearings outside of camp, John stops. She looks up at him questioningly and he smiles. "Just wait," he says. He nods towards the clearing. "Watch."

It's no different from any of the other clearings around here; a small but open area surrounded by trees, the usually uneven terrain made smooth by the snow. She watches without understanding -- are they waiting for someone? something? a Terrian, maybe, or a Grendler?

The night suddenly brightens and she looks up to see the clouds parting, the moons shining through. John tightens his grip on her hand and she looks down again as the light strengthens. Slowly it reflects off the snow until the entire clearing glitters, every surface awash with a million flashes of white light.

"Oh," she says, voice hushed. "John, it's _beautiful_."

"Yeah."

She glances up and finds him smiling at her and doesn't hesitate to return the expression. His free hand rises to brush a piece of hair off her cheek and she swallows hard when his fingers linger on her skin. Her pulse skips a beat.

He coughs a little then, and looks away, back to the clearing. After a moment, she does the same.

Her hand is warm in his; though she probably should, she doesn't let go.

  


* * *

  


_iv._

John goes scouting for food and doesn't take his gear. She changes the watch rotation and neglects to speak with him about it until after the fact.

"You," he says shortly, frustration lining his features, "are impossible."

"And you never learn!"

" _I_ never learn? Look, lady --"

The conversation goes in circles, round and around until she's not even sure she can remember _her_ initial argument, much less his.

She blames herself as much as she does him: neither of them are any good at walking away.

  


* * *

  


_v._

She goes surveying with Alonzo in the morning, helps Bess organise items for trade with a nearby Grendler in the afternoon. After dinner, she commandeers the main table in the biodome and spreads out her maps and charts. They have yet to find a pass out of here but she ignores that obstacle for the moment and instead focuses on the route they will eventually resume to New Pacifica. They are weeks behind schedule and she knows they'll need every shortcut they can find to get there in time.

It's late when she finally pushes back her hair and decides to finish for the night. She has a vague recollection of Uly saying goodnight to her earlier but, for the life of her, she can't remember when that was. Feeling a little guilty -- the days of her working through his bedtime was something she'd hoped to leave behind on the Stations -- she gathers up her papers and puts them away.

She'll take him sledding in the morning, she thinks, heading towards their room. Let him pick the slope and everything.

Half-way across the floor, hand already outstretched to push open their door, she stops suddenly. Turns and walks the other way for reasons she's not entirely sure she can define.

She hasn't seen John since dinner but when she steps outside, there he is, on watch with his magpro slung over one shoulder and his hands outstretched over a fire. He looks up when the door swings shut behind her and smiles.

"Hey, Adair," he says, voice low, soft.

Six steps to cross the distance between them. Three. One. She stands beside him, too close, and feels the heat from the fire, from his body, seep into hers. John shifts, his hand brushing lightly against her back and then her shoulders. His fingers slip through her hair until he's cupping the back of her neck.

It starts to snow.

"Hey, Danziger," she says, and smiles back.

  


* * *

The End

**Author's Note:**

> ORIGINAL URL: <http://anr.livejournal.com/274762.html>


End file.
